It takes years to build up trust and only seconds to destroy it. - Unknown

It started out like any other day.

I had finished all my homework, much of it having piled up due to me constantly being by my mom's side.

I brought it with me, having every intention of working as I sat beside her, just letting her know I was there, but I always ended up focused on her. I was just waiting for her to open her eyes.

The doctors seem hopeful, claiming that her brain activity is on the rise. But I can't help but wonder if they're just telling me what I want to hear. Is it really promising or just another false glimmer of hope? The thought of her waking up fills me with both excitement and fear. What if she's not the same person anymore? What if she never wakes up at all? It's a rollercoaster of emotions, and I'm not sure which one to hold onto.

There have been times when I've fallen asleep just watching her, and doctors or nurses have had to come in and wake me up.

They all tell me she will wake up when she's ready.

While me sitting there may be comforting, there's no guarantee it will speed up her recovery.

My answer was the same every time—exactly what I told Detectives Lambert and Carillo.

She had been there for me my entire life, protecting me and looking out for me. Now it's my turn to do the same for her.

Buzzzz!

My phone vibrated, letting me know someone was either calling me or had texted me.

Picking it up, it read an unknown number.

Frowning, against my better judgement, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Harley?"

"Mr. Haggerty?" I asked, sitting up.

"Yes. Oh, thank goodness you answered. Look, there's been some last-minute changes to the play."

"What kind of changes?"

"The leads both called in with food poisoning. Their understudies, nobody can get a hold of. I could really use your help."

"Okay. Okay. I'll be right there."

"The venue is at the town theatre."

"The theatre?"

"Yes. It's much bigger. We'll be able to fit more people."

"Okay. I'll be there soon."

My heart racing, I hurried into my walk-in closet and hastily pulled on a pair of faded denim shorts that hugged my curves in all the right places. I reached for a black tank top, its fabric soft against my skin, and slipped it over my head.

My bag sat on the floor, waiting for me to pack it with all of my necessities.

With trembling hands, I carefully selected my makeup essentials, from foundation to eyeshadow palettes. I also grabbed my trusted hair products and a hairbrush, knowing the importance of looking flawless on stage. I wanted to be prepared for anything the makeup team might need from me during today's performance. As I zipped up my bag, a sense of excitement and nervousness washed over me. I was eager to see what the day had in store for me.

The stairs thumped as I ran down them at record speed.

This is awful. We worked so hard on this play, namely Mr. Haggerty, and on the day of our grand performance, the two main characters come down with food poisoning.

The chaotic and unpredictable nature of our productions is exactly why we have understudies. It's ironic that now, when we need them the most, they are nowhere to be found. The weight of responsibility for a successful show weighs heavily on my shoulders, but I also can't help but worry about the potential backlash if he doesn't have backup understudies. We could be facing a catastrophic situation.

Checking the bus app on my phone, the bus that would lead me to the theatre was coming in seven minutes.

Throwing on my boots, I made sure I had everything before locking the door and walking the short distance to the bus stop.

I wasn't waiting long, as it actually came about two minutes early.

I hopped onto the bus, grateful for the near-empty seats.

As I made my way to the back, I couldn't help but notice the eerie silence that filled the air. Settling into my seat, I pulled out a true crime novel and delved deep into the twisted minds of serial killers.

It was a dark read, but one that always fascinated me. The intricate details of their crimes and the inner workings of their deranged brains held a morbid allure.

What intrigued me most was how drastically different their thoughts and actions were from those of average people, not convicted of such heinous acts as murder or assault with a deadly weapon.

I almost missed my stop when I happened to look up.

Pulling the yellow cord, it dinged, notifying the driver of my stop.

"Thank you," I said as I exited.

As I walked up to the theatre, I noticed how empty it was.

Am I the only one here?

The wind howled through the trees, whipping my hair into a tangled mess and sending a chill down my spine.

The once sunny day had turned unexpectedly cold, sending shivers through my body.

I scolded myself for not checking the forecast before leaving the house. If I had, I would have undoubtedly brought a warm jacket or sweater to protect against the sudden change in weather.

But now, as I hugged my arms to my chest and huddled against the wind, I couldn't help but regret that oversight.

The gusts whipped through the air with fierce intensity, causing leaves to dance and debris to swirl around me. It was as if nature itself had decided to unleash its fury on this unsuspecting day, catching everyone off guard. Lesson learned: Always check the weather before venturing outside.

Nevertheless, I pulled on the handle to the door, relieved to find it unlocked.

As it closed behind me, no noise could be heard other than the harsh wind outside.

But it was much warmer in here, thankfully.

"Mr. Haggerty?" I called, of course, receiving no answer.

I looked around at the near-pitch black theatre.

Pulling out my phone, I went to turn on the flashlight when I heard, "There's no need for that."

Then a light shone down on the stage.

There stood Mr. Haggerty in full costume, mask and all, hair slicked back.

"What? Where is everyone?"

"I sent them out to pick up a few last-minute things."

"Oh, okay. Have you figured out what you're going to do about the leads? What about others who auditioned?"

"Unfortunately, I have not been able to reach anyone, or they have not met my standards."

"Maybe you should think about lowering your standards," I told him, approaching the stage.

His head shot up. "That is absolutely out of the question. I will not ruin one of the most beautifully crafted pieces of literature because we had to settle for someone less than perfect." He began pacing, doing so for a few seconds. "Wait! What if you stepped in?"

"Me? I would be far from perfect. I haven't even been in since before the auditions. I only gave you suggestions for how to hold auditions."

"True, you haven't been. But you're the only one who may just love this piece as much as I do."

"I guess."

Not a second sooner, he said, "Wonderful. The costume is backstage. Why don't you put it on so we can rehearse? We'll be doing the scene in Eric's... residence."

"Um, okay. It's back there?" I pointed to the left-side wing.

"Yeah. First door."

I went through the left stage door and up a few steps before heading down the short hallway to where the costumes should be.

Pushing open the door, it was completely black, save for the light beaming on from the hallway.

I felt across the wall next to the door, looking for a light switch.

"Aha!" I exclaimed once I had found it, flicking it on.

My gaze swept across the rows upon rows of elaborate costumes, each rack adorned with a name tag for its corresponding character.

I made my way through the aisles, studiously studying the various options, until I came upon a section labelled 'Christine'. My eyes landed on a strikingly beautiful white dress, its intricate lace and flowing skirts bearing an uncanny resemblance to the one worn in the beloved 2004 film adaptation.

I was shocked when he decided to go with the adaptation by Andrew Lloyd Webber instead of the original. But he argued that this modern take would attract a larger audience, and I suppose he's right.

Quickly and carefully, I changed into the dress and was struggling with the back.

I jumped when I heard a knock.

"Harley? Are you almost done?"

"Um, yeah. I'm just tying the back."

"Do you need some help?"

I paused, honestly contemplating it.

He's a teacher, right? It's alright if he helps.

"Uh, yeah. If you don't mind."

"I'm coming in."

I heard the door open and quickly heard something clatter to the floor.

Turning around, I noticed he had his eyes covered.

"You can uncover your eyes. I'm completely covered. I just need help doing up the back."

"I knew this would end up being a problem. I told them not to add the lace on the back."

"I'm really sorry I haven't been to rehearsals lately. I don't normally slack on my responsibilities when someone asks for my help."

"Yeah. I get that vibe from you."

"Vibe?" I smiled, trying to contain my laughter.

"Hey. I'm not that old. I'm still sort of up to date on the lingo you guys use."

I chuckled. "Lingo? Okay, I can't. You're really funny, Mr. Haggerty."

"I'm glad you think so. Now let's get this dress done up."

He stood behind me as I admired myself in the mirror.

I shivered when I felt his fingers brush my back.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. Your hand is just cold. It surprised me, is all."

"Wow, with your hair styled like that, you bear a striking resemblance to Christine," he remarked. I couldn't help but smile at his comment.

My hair was my pride and joy—a wild tangle of curls and ringlets that cascaded down my back. Each strand seemed to have a life of its own, bouncing and twirling with each movement. It was my defining feature—the one thing I wouldn't dare change or tame.

"Really?"

"Yeah. If you had brown hair, you'd be Christine reincarnated."

"But she wasn't a real person. Only a fictional character created by Gaston Leroux. Isn't the point of reincarnation the same soul being born into a new body?"

"There are many views on reincarnation, including that very one. But we have yet to prove it truly exists."

"Do you believe it exists?" I asked, turning around and finding him much closer than I expected, causing me to step back.

"It doesn't matter what I think. We all have theories about many things. Things that are proven may be disproven or things unfounded, but now we have evidence to substantiate claims. There will always be theories about everything, including death."

I furrowed my brows.

"Why death?"

"We hear stories of people who claim to have died and been brought back to life. Is what they say true or something they concocted in their own minds? Is there an afterlife, or do we simply die? Are we reborn? We don't know, not until our number is called."

"Huh? I guess I never really thought about death that way."

"As you shouldn't. You're much too young to worry yourself with such matters." He looked up at the wall. "Wow. Is that the time already?"

It was 1:31.

Wait, how long have I been here?

"We should get to practicing." He said, heading for the door.

"Yeah. I'll be there in a sec."

"Oh. I left you some water. Be sure to hydrate. We wouldn't want you to strain your voice, now would we?"

"Right. Thanks."

He gave me one last smile before leaving.

I gazed at myself in the mirror, running my hands over the dress that I had picked out for tonight.

My mind raced with thoughts of all the events that had unfolded this year, from Miranda's tragic murder to uncovering the dark secrets of our town's history.

And now, a stalker who may or may not have taken his own life and my mother's recent car accident.

The weight of everything settled heavily on my shoulders, leaving me with an uneasy feeling that something even bigger was looming ahead.

Who would it affect? When would it happen? I couldn't shake off this sense of impending doom.

I took a deep breath before grabbing the bottle of water that sat on the desk in the corner.

Taking a small sip, I recoiled at the taste of chlorine and minerals that lingered on my tongue. It was unpleasant and made me crave a glass of fresh, crisp tap water.

The water reminded me of a stagnant pond, stagnant with too much salt to bear and a sharp tang that lingered like a bad memory. It was a reminder of what was not meant to be consumed by human lips—a mockery of pristine nature.

I set it back down before heading out for the stage.

This time, instead of heading out the door, I continued on to the wings and made my way onto the stage.

"Okay. I'm ready." I told him, standing in front of him. "Where should I start?"

"Alright. You've seen the movie, right?" I nodded. "You should start in the gondola. I will begin singing, and then come get you, to which we will reenact the movie scene."

"Alright, sounds good." I made my way over and sat inside the gondola that rested near the edge of the stage on the left.

As I sat down, the music for Music Of The Night began, causing me to look at the control room.

Someone from the tech crew must still be here to help.

I watched from my seat in the gondola as he began singing.

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defences.

I tried to visualize the scene I'd watched many times before, emoting the same way Emmy Rossum, the actress playing Christine, had.

Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour.

Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender

Turn your face away from the garish light of day

Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light

And listen to the music of the night

He stood a short distance away, his voice projecting throughout the theatre.

Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams

Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before

Close your eyes, let your spirit start to soar!

And you'll live as you've never lived before

I felt my eyes close momentarily, seemingly entranced by the sound of his voice as Christine had by with the Phantom's, hearing it in person for the first time.

Softly, deftly, music shall surround you

Feel it, hear it closing in around you

Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind

In this darkness which you know you cannot fight

The darkness of the music of the night

He walked away, my feet "unconsciously" following after him.

Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world

Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before

Let your soul take you where you long to be

Only then can you belong to me

Despite my reservations about the mature nature of this act, his hands grasped me tightly, spinning me around and pressing himself against my body with a fierce hunger.

Floating, falling, sweet intoxication

Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation

He reached out and gently took my hand, placing it against the side of his face where the mask didn't cover. The skin beneath my touch was warm and smooth, a sharp contrast to the cool, hard surface of the mask. I could feel the faint stubble on his cheek and the slight indentations of his features hidden behind the mask. His grip was firm but gentle as he held onto my hand, drawing me closer to him.

Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in

To the power of the music that I write

The power of the music of the night

My steps faltered as we approached the mirror, a strange sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. The reflection staring back at me seemed to waver and distort, making me feel dizzy and disoriented. I opened my mouth to speak, but my words came out slurred and garbled. My body felt heavy and uncooperative, and my limbs were like lead weights pulling me down.

My hearing became distorted and muffled, as if I were underwater. The only sound that remained was the beating of my racing heart.

"I-I don't feel so good," I managed to stammer out before my body gave in to the overwhelming sensation of weightlessness. My legs gave out from under me, and I collapsed onto the floor.

The cold tiles against my skin were the last sensation I could register before everything went black. The sound of Mr. Haggerty's voice calling out faded into the distance as darkness consumed me, leaving behind only a faint memory of his smiling face bending down towards mine. And then, nothingness.